James Joyce's great novel Ulysses took him seven years to write, and was finally published in 1922. Over 900 pages long, it was originally planned as a short story in Joyce's early collection, Dubliners. Ulysses recounts in brilliant detail, and in an extraordinary mix of literary structures and parodic styles, the goings-on on one day in Dublin, June 16 1904.

He used the Homeric epic as a private structural device, but the plan became public, which was a great pity. Good readers ignore it of course, but bad readers, and (especially) bad students, lean on this kind of thing like a seedy drunk leaning on a Little Green Street lamp post. I am sure that many a desperate and unimaginative doctoral student has found a safe harbour by seizing upon the 'Homeric parallels' in Ulysses. And Dr. Freud and the existentialists and, these days no doubt, the Foucaultists (or fou cultists, 'fou' being French for fool), are not far behind.

My own view of literary scholarship is somewhat different, and extremely unfashionable. I believe that the good reader should obtain from a worthy work of creative prose or poetry what I might loosely describe as a sense of aesthetic bliss. If the reader is unsure what I mean, he should read John Keats' Ode to Autumn (which I quoted very briefly on the cover of the September issue), or Shakespeare's description of Cleopatra's barge.

Research into a literary work's structure, its chronology, or an amplified examination of the detail of the novel or poem, can enhance that sense of aesthetic bliss. Feminist, or politically twisted, modern gobbledegook however ( which is a great deal easier to mass produce than the individual jewel of well-researched plain information), merely diminishes the reader's appreciation of a great novel's essence, and has no place in rational scholarship.

Having made my philosophy of literary criticism clear, I can now embark on highlighting one of the most fascinating details in Ulysses: the rare instance of an evocation of petticoat punishment in a major work of literature. Peter Farrer's book, which I review in this issue, has been of considerable help, although I had planned this essay long before receiving the book.

James Joyce had a fascination for women's underwear, and soft and plump women's bottoms. The biographer Richard Ellman mentions that Joyce used to carry a pair of lace-trimmed doll's knickers in his trouser pocket. I believe it is certain that he was submissive, but I know of no evidence that he cross-dressed (perhaps readers can enlighten me). From the evidence of Ellman's biography, I think we can judge that the fantasies of Leopold Bloom ( the ordinary Dubliner who is the Ulysses of the title) are very close to Joyce's own feelings.

In one passage, Bloom muses, 'Dreamt last night...She had red slippers on. Turkish. Wore the breeches. Suppose she does...'  Leopold Bloom is a happily submissive husband - we discover in Chapter 10 that he owns a copy of a novel entitled Fair Tyrants - who is introduced in the fourth chapter, making breakfast in bed for his wife, Molly. She is not an absurd dominatrix of course, but is a slightly bossy and imperious, but very likable, woman. In this early chapter we are given a subtle hint that Leopold may be interested in wearing ladies' things. Whilst he is making Molly's tea, we read:

The Bath of the Nymph over the bed. Given away with the Easter number of Photo Bits: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Tea before you put the milk in...

A little later he takes an old copy of Tidbits to read in the lavatory. Photo Bits and Tidbits were the kind of 'comic' newspapers that printed much of the early correspondence on petticoat discipline in the home. James Joyce was an omnivorous reader, and knew them well. Since Ulysses was written well after Joyce had left Ireland for good, he had to do a great deal of research to ensure background accuracy. He used maps of Dublin, copies of the newspapers of that particular day, various Dublin directories, and copies of Bits of Fun, which was simply Photo Bits under a new name.

The passages with which we are concerned occur in Chapter 15. Presented in the form of a play, this is a whirling maelstrom of night dream and fantasy; sometimes the characters' fantasy, sometimes Joyce's, sometimes both. Even William Shakespeare has a role. During the extraordinary nocturnal dreams and emissions, Leopold and Bella Cohen, the brothel keeper, exchange sexes (Bella becoming Bello), with the implied role-reversal associations:

BLOOM: (Enthralled, bleats) I promise never to disobey.

BELLO: (Laughs loudly) Holy smoke! You little know what's in store for you. I'm the tartar to settle your little lot and break you in! I'll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me, I dare you. If you do, tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be inflicted in gym costume.

She (referred to as 'he' in the text) threatens him with a spanking, and later we read:

BELLO: (Stands up) No more blow hot and cold. What you longed for has come to pass. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing under the yolk. Now for your punishment frock. You will shed your male garments, you understand, Ruby Cohen? and don the shot silk luxuriously rustling over your head and shoulders and quickly too.

BLOOM: (Shrinks) Silk, mistress said! O crinkly! scrapy! Must I tiptouch it with my nails?

BELLO: (Points to his whores) As they are now, so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with smoothshaven armpits. Tape measurements will be taken next to your skin. You will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille, with whalebone busk, to the diamond trimmed pelvis, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of course, with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice, and nice scent for Alice. Alice will feel the pullpull. Martha and Mary will be a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you...

BLOOM: (A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and large male hands and nose, leering mouth) I tried her things on only once, a small prank, in Holles Street. When we were hardup I washed them to save the laundry bill. My own shirts I turned. It was the purest thrift.

BELLO: (Jeers) Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh!

Bella goes on to mention Leopold cross-dressing 'at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds' in 'That secondhand black opera top shift and short trunk leg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the Shelbourne Hotel, eh?'  Bloom replies:

BLOOM: (Her hands and features working) It was Gerald converted me to be a true corsetlover when I was female impersonator in the High School play 'Vice Versa'. It was dear Gerald. He got that kink, fascinated by sister's stays. Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his eyelids. Cult of the beautiful.

BELLO: (With wicked glee) Beautiful! Give us a breather! When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the smoothworn throne.

BLOOM: Science. To compare the various joys we each enjoy. (Earnestly) And really it's better the position...because often I used to wet...

(Leopold is stating that he wore women's undies in order to better understand the experience of women, and that going to the lavatory 'the girl's way' is better than the male way, because it causes less mess).

Bella later expounds on the domestic duties which Leopold will be expected to perform as a ladies' maid:

BELLO: (Satirically) By day you will souse and bat our smelling underclothes, also when we ladies are unwell, and swab out our latrines with dress pinned up and a dishclout tied to your tail. Won't that be nice? (He places a ruby ring on her finger) And there now! With this ring I thee own. Say thank you, mistress.

BLOOM: Thank you, mistress.

She gives poor Leopold a lot more duties, and then adds,

...you will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and spank your bare bot right well, miss, with the hairbrush. You'll be taught the error of your ways. At night your wellcreamed braceleted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. For such favours knights of old laid down their lives...

Leopold is eventually auctioned, ostensibly as a maid of all work, although to men rather than to imperious women. Bella shows him off:

BELLO: (Gaily) Right Let them come. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with the long straight seam trailing up behind the knee, appeal to the better instincts of the blase man about town. Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis XV heels, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing. Bring all your power of fascination to bear on them. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices.

BLOOM: (Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in mouth) O, I know what you're hinting at now.

BELLO: What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you?

Later in this fascinating phantasmagoria Leopold even meets the Nymph who was pictured in the 'splendid masterpiece in art colours' set over Leopold and Molly's bed. The Nymph reads from a paper:

THE NYMPH: (Sadly) Rubber goods. Neverrip. Brand as supplied to the aristocracy. Corsets for men. I cure fits or money refunded. Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldemann's wonderful chest exuber. My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rubin with photo.

BLOOM: You mean Photo Bits?

THE NYMPH: I do. You bore me away, framed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places...

So Joyce returns us to the first mention in the novel of his main reference for the petticoat punishment passages. But can we identify the letters which may have influenced him the most? In Confidential Correspondence on Cross Dressing 1916-1920 Peter Farrer presents the results of his own researches.

James Joyce was composing Chapter 15 of Ulysses during the latter part of 1920, and asked his friend Frank Bugden to post him some examples of the comic papers 'of as bold a type as might be found on our puritan shores. I took it he meant those journals, usually entitled something or other Bits...' (Frank Bugden, James Joyce and the Making of Ulysses, London 1934).

Letter 269 in Peter Farrer's collection was certainly one that Joyce read while composing Ulysses. In it a man recalls his severe petticoat punishment at the hands of the family's parlour maid, whose orders he disobeys, a strong athletic young woman who had ...'promised my mother to tame me and train me to be useful about the house, now that I was coming home for good'. The writer, who signs himself 'CAP AND APRON', is forced to serve as the parlour maid's personal maid, and wonders whether, when he leaves the army, he will 'again suffer the same fate of apron rule'.

The textual similarities are clear:

CAP AND APRON: ...I am sure any lady dressed in this most attractive style would not fail to subjugate the most refractory male into most submissive and abject slavery, as the very approach of her requisite and beautifully rustling uniform would overawe him completely and set him trembling with anticipation of punishment and pain soon to be inflicted.

Compare with:

BELLO: Cheek me, I dare you. If you do, tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be inflicted in gym costume.

Or:

CAP AND APRON: By the time she had finished I was absolutely exhausted and redhot, and promised with bitter tears never to disobey her lightest word in the future.

Compare with:

BLOOM: (Enthralled, bleats) I promise never to disobey.

And another example:

CAP AND APRON: My body being thus stretched and contracted to the utmost, she laced me into corsets with cruel force.

Compare with:

BELLO: Tape measurements will be taken next to your skin. You will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille, with whalebone busk, to the diamond trimmed pelvis, the absolute outside edge...

Letter 284 in the collection describes a very cissyish boy of thirteen, Gerald, who adores wearing  velvet Little Lord Fauntleroy suits with a golden wig of curls reaching to his shoulders. One of his mother's friends suggests girl's clothes, and he is attired in the frillies of an 11 year old girl, with his petticoats and knickers showing, after which he is cuddled and petted by all the ladies present at tea. Gerald is allowed to keep the clothes, and his mother buys him many more sets so he can indulge his love of being a babyish girl.

Although the circumstances are different, Peter Farrer believes that this letter may have inspired the name 'Gerald' in Bloom's explanation for his own cross dressing tendencies.

No novel in history is richer in allusion and parody than Ulysses. Scholars have barely scratched its surface, and examination of petticoat punishment literature from the early years of the century may point to other assonances with passages in Ulysses. There is a great deal more to be discovered about this marvellous and multi-referenced work.
Susan MacDonald